


A Lively Young Man

by asoleonion



Category: Brat'ya Karamazovy | Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Genre: Angst, Gay Character, Homoeroticism, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asoleonion/pseuds/asoleonion
Summary: Six years later, in Paris, Alyosha comes across a lively young man and for the first time experiences the sensual passions of a Karamazov.
Relationships: Alexei "Alyosha" Fyodorovich Karamazov & Pyotr "Petrusha" Fomich Kalganov, Alexei "Alyosha" Fyodorovich Karamazov/Nikolay "Kolya" Ivanovitch Krassotkin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Alyosha Arrives in Paris and Stumbles Upon a Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After six years of travelling, Alyosha arrives in Paris.

Alyosha had been in Paris for some days now. His French came more easily to him than it had before, and he found that he enjoyed speaking it. Now he spoke it not in the stilted confines of his classroom back at his old gymnasium, and not with the lofty intellectuals of whom his brother Ivan was so fond, but with the people he passed on the street: the neighbours in his building, the postman, the baker and his wife.

Over the years prior to Alyosha's arrival in Paris, he had travelled across many countries in the continent. He had seen much of the world, including its dark moments of strife and crushing poverty, though he had not yet himself experienced any major crisis. Often he thought of his brothers, Dmitri in America, Ivan in Moscow, but the emotion of those turbulent days six years ago no longer disturbed him as greatly as they once had. On his travels he had turned his focus to those he met: those in need of help, of money, of love without judgement. Now in Paris he seemed to be gently carving out the same pattern; getting to know the community around him, growing to know the people.

He was staying with Kalganov. Kalganov had lived in Paris for several years now, having finally chosen to attend University in the city after an unhappy year in Zurich, and had readily made available to Alyosha the spare room in his lodgings. He had as expected come into a great deal of wealth, and indeed still dressed elaborately, but chose to live in an apartment to the east of the city, on a lively working class street. Kalganov introduced Alyosha to his friends, many of them from university, and Alyosha was universally liked. That is, everyone felt instantly quite fond of him, which is perhaps why they seldom laughed at his innocence, strange though it seemed to them. Sometimes they would try to change his mind, fascinated by his simple chastity, but were always impressed by his modest and amiable replies. "You are not at all like a Russian," one guest at a gathering had remarked--resulting, of course, in a hearty discussion of the key characteristics of Russians--and another had quipped that "God must be in Russia, and abandoned France!"

Kalganov had been curious, too, and had enquired as to Alyosha's solitary life over the years.

"Didn't the Elder tell you to marry?" he asked, with the easy and inquisitive air that old friends can so readily assume, even after any number of years.

"He did," Alyosha acknowledged. "And I did think then that I would marry right away. But now who am I to marry?"

"Has no woman yet caught your eye, all these years, Karamazov? Have you never found yourself tempted? Strange, but you strike me as much unchanged, Alyosha, almost exactly as you were when you first came back to our village."

Alyosha smiled. "I've been well, Petrusha. I've been happy enough so far, though I am not yet married...I will marry one day, of course. When it is right I hope it will become clear."

Kalganov laughed. He was still a very handsome man at twenty-seven, even more so, with age (perhaps unfairly) lending still a greater impression of meaningful intelligence to his blue eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to question you like a troubled old mother. After all, I'm not married either. And anyway, though you did not answer me on the question of temptations, I think you have changed somehow; you don't blush anymore, which of course is a fine thing for a man of our age."

Hearing this, Alyosha blushed a little, which caused Kalganov to give a delighted shout of laughter. "There you are! Oh, don't mind me. Still, you are always more than welcome to come to me with any stories you might have after all."

"I don't have any stories with women," Alyosha mumbled.

"Indeed. Well, don't worry; I don't have too many, either," said Kalganov, somewhat seriously, and he had acquired an expression very familiar to Alyosha, one of solemn distraction.

* * *

After suppertime one evening the following week, Alyosha returned to the apartment from his visit to the nearby cathedral to find that the door had been left unlocked. He stepped inside cautiously. All looked well and undisturbed, but he could not be sure; he was after all still new to the city, and unsure of the expectations of crime. Having checked his room and the kitchen he called out for Kalganov, but receiving no reply, went to the door of his friend's room. Now he heard whispers inside:

"My friend," Kalganov was saying. "It's alright."

Then the door opened and Alyosha stepped back, astonished, to find Kalganov smiling at him having evidently recently been in a state of partial undress, judging by the state of his attire. What was astonishing was not that, however, but his friend's company: a tall and broadly built man, by appearance somewhat older, though with a gentle, handsome face. He seemed less hastily dressed, though the rise and fall of his chest gave away some sense of activity or unease.

"Oh," Alyosha said, "I just came back. The door was unlocked, I wanted to check if -"

He knew he was blushing immensely.

"Ah! I must have forgotten, I'm sorry," said Kalganov.

"Well -"

"This is Francois," Kalganov added, in French.

"Oh, hello," Alyosha mumbled.

"It's nice to meet you," Francois said. "I will go now, I was just leaving."

"Yes, yes," said Alyosha, and hurried to his room. He closed his door and listened involuntarily as he took out the bread and sausage he had bought at the market earlier that day. There was some murmuring outside and then the sound of the door shutting and being locked. After a moment someone knocked gently on his door.

What was he to do? He had hardly had time to think. Still, what did he have to think about? He knew what he suspected, and if it was true, then...

Alyosha went to his door and opened it. Kalganov stood outside, looking uncertain.

"Can we talk?" he said finally, meeting Alyosha's eyes.

Alyosha followed him to the dinner table and sat across from him. "What about?" he asked, then regretted it.

Kalganov smiled somewhat wanly. "What about?" he echoed. "Alyosha, why do you blush again?"

And so he was; he could not stop blushing. He said, warmly, entreatingly, "Petrusha, let's not talk about it."

"I think we have to," said Kalganov firmly, and his smile had become a little stronger. There was a little light perhaps of hope in his eyes. "What do you say, Alyosha? Am I still your friend?"

"Yes, of course."

"Though I sin?"

Alyosha looked down at the table. "Though you sin."

"Have you ever seen it before?"

Alyosha shook his head. "Never...of course I've heard some things before but I never myself saw it..."

"Did you suspect me to be a sinner before?"

Alyosha blushed terribly at this last question, though he did not then know why. "No, I - No, Petrusha, I never thought..."

When he looked up again Kalganov was looking at him warmly. After a long moment of quiet, he said, "Well, thank you, Alyosha. It's late; I'll bid you goodnight."

And he rose, leaving Alyosha alone at the table.

* * *

Life went on, Alyosha thought. He had made a discovery about his friend, but he was still that - his friend. He remembered sometimes the look in Petrusha's eyes, and sometimes he thought about how young they had been when they had first met. They had been friends for a long time now. Love for mankind, no matter his failings...was he, Kalganov, not after all the same kind and generous man? Yes, he was; and so Alyosha decided he would not think about the matter any longer. Kalganov did not bring it up again either, and they were happy to put it behind them. Some time later Kalganov announced that he would be hosting a gathering at the apartment at which several fellow Russians new to Paris would be in attendance, and that Alyosha must therefore make himself available. Alyosha readily agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that all the language of homophobia and "sin" in this story are a result of the time and social context of the novel. Certainly not my views. Oh, and thank you for reading!


	2. A Lively Young Man At the Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight!_
> 
> _How the world may be changed in just one burst of light––_
> 
> _And what was right seems wrong_
> 
> _And what was wrong seems right_

Alyosha arrived late to the gathering. He had been at the church, and by the time he arrived back at Kalganov's apartment it seemed that all the introductions had been made. The room was filled with the buzz of animated conversation. Amongst the young men and women Alyosha recognised several of Kalganov's good friends from the University, whom he had encountered on prior occasions. There was also a number of those he did not recognise, though he saw at once that several of them were his fellow countrymen.

Moving into the room, Alyosha observed Kalganov––and beside him Francois––engaged in what seemed to be a most absorbing discussion at the dining table. Glancing around Alyosha smiled at the men he recognised, and nodded at those who caught his eye but were unfamiliar. He had not made up his mind on whether to join Kalganov at the table when someone clasped his shoulder and said in French, 

"Alexey! Come, come and meet these fine fellows, freshly arrived from the snows of Saint Petersburg." 

And so Alyosha was thrust into one of the groups of young men, in which a passionate discussion was ongoing. Alyosha smiled and listened, head slightly bowed, to the speaker's Russian-inflected French. The discussion was about the question of Socialism, one which was popular amongst Kalganov's friends.

"Of course, it is not as simple as that," finished the speaker, to sounds of agreement from those listening.

"No, of course; you are right, Matvey," someone answered in a playful tone. "If it were simple, it would hardly be worth discussing."

Alyosha glanced at the one who was speaking now. He was a lively young man, his French brushed with the barest blush of Russian; he had a pleasant, teasing style of speaking. As he continued, it became clear that he was well-learned, and a Socialist, in the French style. There was a warmth and caring in the way he spoke, listening attentively to the others, encouraging even the shy and softspoken Pierre to speak out. He was in short very charismatic, and many of the young men who were gathered seemed to pay special attention to him whenever he spoke. Alyosha, too, found his own gaze returning repeatedly to the young man, even after he joined another group to greet a friend.

_There is something familiar about him,_ Alyosha thought, but he could not at that moment think where he might have met with the young man before. For there was something else troubling him; an emotion within him that he realised, upon examination, was both pleasant yet somehow threatening. There was something familiar about the young man, yes, and yet––there was also something irresistible about him. Oh! Alyosha felt drawn to him against his will. How handsome he looked. Alyosha was conscious that he had never felt so drawn to a man's countenance before. Indeed, he was becoming painfully aware that he had never before felt so drawn to a woman's countenance.

He was confused, and did not know what to do with himself. As though in a haze, he rejoined the group with the lively young man and found himself listening to every word he was speaking. The young man said something entertaining then, some joke that caused those gathered to burst into merry laughter, and when Alyosha looked up––too frightened of himself to laugh––their eyes met, and Alyosha felt something shift within himself. Against his will he caught his breath. He felt himself caught by those lively warm eyes, held by them.

Kalganov declared then that more alcohol and delicacies had been laid out for the company, and Alyosha was grateful for the excuse to turn away as the various groups began to disperse. Discussion broke out more diffusely as those present mingled and laughed over drinks and small plates of food. Alyosha listened for a while to Kalganov, who was still occupied in some intense discussion, before his friend Paul greeted him. 

"It has been a while, Alexey! How are you liking Paris now?"

Alyosha pressed his hand in return. "Hello, Paul. I am enjoying it even more than before. It has been very good to work with the churches here."

"You have still only been to the churches, then?" Paul smiled.

"He is very devout."

Alyosha started, then blushed. It was he of the lovely French, with barely the trace of an accent––the lively young man who made him feel so strange.

Paul laughed. "You know each other, then."

"Here," said the young man to Alyosha. "A drink for you."

Alyosha accepted the clear spirit automatically, feeling confused once again by the feelings arising within him. "I am Alexey Fyodorovich," he said.

"I know."

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised, somewhat breathless, feeling ridiculous. To his chagrin, the young man seemed to pay him a great deal of attention, and Alyosha feared that he seemed, too, to sense Alyosha's attraction toward him.

But the young man did not explain himself, nor did he introduce himself. Yet it did not seem callous to Alyosha. Increasingly he felt that he knew him somehow, though he still could not quite recall how. At the same time his soul struggled: he felt that he was being sinful, and yet the feeling was being overwhelmed by an excitement, a happiness, that he had never felt before. Was this the temptation with which men struggled, the temptation he had to this day never experienced?

Though Alyosha drank, the spirit was stronger than the wine he was used to on social occasions. But the strange excitement in him made him eager to drink it. He was aware of a part of himself that wondered if he might abandon himself to the drink so that he could allow himself to blame his Karamazov nature...the sensuality about which his Elder had warned him! Oh, he had not thought of the Elder for some time...had he become a sinner over the years?

For there was something flirtatious in the way they spoke to each other, he and the young man...there was something in the air between them. He dared not name it; he dared not call it by its name, the attraction that bridged the space between them. The young man was clever, teasing, lovely, interested in him. And Alyosha liked it.

Feeling brave, or reckless, when Paul turned away to join another conversation, Alyosha entreated once again: "Tell me, how do you know me?"

The young man smiled. "Do you live here, Alyosha?"

Alyosha shivered; he could not help himself; the young man spoke intimately, as if he knew him well, and he had called him Alyosha. "Yes, I do. Ah, is it Petrusha that you know?"

"Yes, yes, I know Kalganov," said the young man, "but I know you, too. Come, take me with you to your room and I will tell you," he added, and his eyes sparkled merrily. 

Alyosha again could not help but smile in return, though the confusion inside him continued to burn. "Alright," he said. "So we may speak in private."

The young man followed Alyosha into his room. He closed the door and turned to smile at Alyosha, then spoke in Russian:

"Do you truly not know me?" He laughed. "Well, no matter, I am not too badly hurt. I suppose it has been many years!"

Alyosha stared, but could not speak. The young man came close and pressed his hands, gazing deeply into his eyes, and spoke again in a familiar Russian. "I was just a boy when you knew me. A silly boy, though I fancied myself otherwise. I'm sure you would agree. Well, I am grown now; no wonder perhaps that you do not recognise me."

"Oh, Kolya!" cried Alyosha. He pressed Kolya's hands warmly, and felt greatly relieved: it was Kolya! What he had been feeling all evening had been a fondness he had simply forgotten, an affection borne of instinctive familiarity...perhaps there had been no strange attraction after all, nothing untoward, no sin at all. "How glad I am to see you again! It has been long, so long!"

Yet still Kolya continued to be suggestive––still he continued to be irresistible, speaking with a teasing smile upon his handsome face. "Yes, it has; and you know, perhaps I preferred when you did not know me, for I think you liked me very well just now."

What did he mean by it? Alyosha could not understand it. "Oh! I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Alyosha, warmly, but he knew he was blushing and his eyes were quite averted from the young Kolya, now quite grown up. 

For Kolya had changed greatly in the past eight years; he was tall now, as tall as Alyosha and perhaps even a little taller, and his face had acquired the angles of a grown man, albeit young. He was very handsome. The upturn of his nose was still present, but less noticeable, and was quite endearing, even to the young man himself. His hair fell now in thick locks of dark gold across his fair face, at once partly obscuring his brow and yet drawing attention to the pale grey eyes that sparkled with a merry wit. His boyhood freckles had persisted, and they too were endearing and served to draw attention to his high-set cheekbones. It hardly needs to be stated that Kolya had been very popular with the ladies of the town, and indeed with the gentlemen.

Alyosha, too, was changed. Kolya still found him to be as handsome as he had always been, with the same gentle good nature in his soft eyes, but Alyosha had grown older, too. Time had lent him a rugged maleness which now more firmly overlay his former angelic boyhood.

"Or perhaps you have always liked me very well," teased Kolya now, feeling a great delight at the sudden look of shyness that crossed the other young man's face. "You remember––you remember, of course! For it was about this time eight years ago, when I declared that we had quite confessed our love to one another."

It delighted him to see Alyosha's blushes, for it confirmed to him what he had thought of all evening and indeed had dreamt of for quite some time. But he resolved not to speak of his feelings just yet; for some part of him wished to play with Alyosha, to torment him a little, gently, knowing he would never do any real harm to him. So he said: "You see, I did wonder––not then, but certainly after I was done at the school––I did wonder not only at the depths of your feelings for me, but at their nature..." Speaking thus, Kolya clasped Alyosha's hand in his, to press it, and tried to hide his delight when Alyosha quickly and firmly withdrew his hand.

"Nikolay! I declare that...I have no idea of what you mean," Alyosha spoke, his voice warm with emotion and his eyes wide as he gazed at Kolya. "Please, don't speak of such things....such things as you are alluding to! I wonder that you would say such things to me..."

"Don't call me Nikolay, Alyosha, dear," said Kolya, smiling. "I ask––no, I demand that you speak of me with the utmost affection. Come, there's no use in hiding it now."

Alyosha was blushing intensely now, without speaking, and Kolya feared he had gone too far, and so scrambled to continue on to the next part of his intentions. He bowed his head, knowing how it made his locks fall forward into his eyes, and thrilled when he saw that Alyosha noticed it, and watched him. Kolya spoke softly now: "Ah! Forgive me, Alyosha, for teasing you. I hope you will understand...it is difficult for me to say. I joked, just now, about your feelings for me. That is––I wished that you had such feelings, because of how happy it made me, the way you looked at me and spoke to me so warmly. I wished––oh! I wished that others would notice, and it would be like any other thing in town, like if any other girl had had the favour of your attention, to be remarked upon at society events, in tones of gossip certainly, but no different than the news of any man declaring his feelings for some good lady...Alyosha, how I longed for you! I told you no lies, not even back then, when I was young and afraid, so afraid of myself and the feelings in my breast and the passions inside me that stirred each time I thought of you. I yearned for you, Alexey Karamazov, though I called you by that name, 'Karamazov', and tried at times (without success I must add) to hide my ardour. When you responded to me with such love, and such acceptance, I...well, it meant the world to me, Alyosha. And still it does."

Alyosha had fallen silent at this confession. The earnestness of the speaker could not be doubted. And Alyosha found that his hands had, once again, been taken between those of the young man. Kolya was gazing at him with love, much the same deep love and affection that he had shown before, and though he tried to conceal it the confession did not leave Alyosha untouched. Indeed, a feeling stirred in his chest––an immense, trembling feeling that thrilled him and frightened him greatly with its immensity.

"Kolya," he began. "How...What is it that you mean by this? I looked forward to meeting you again one day, this is true...and it is true also that I have always"––and he could not help but blush at this, however innocently it was meant––"loved you. Yes, it is true, I do not deny it. I have loved you as my own brother, Kolya...I never felt any differently."

But he did not draw his hands away. Kolya felt therefore encouraged, despite Alyosha's words.

"Nonsense," he cried, warmly, pressing Alyosha's hand still more firmly. "I would allow that you did not love me before...or that you loved me as a brother, as you say...but after tonight I know that you must feel differently now. I could see it in your eyes tonight, Alyosha, it caught me, and it is driving me wild with wondering, with wishing."

Alyosha looked at him almost involuntarily, as if he could not help but be drawn by the passion and intensity of Kolya's confession. "The wishing?" he uttered, and Kolya noticed with a tremble in his breast that there was the same wishing now within Alyosha's eyes. Emboldened, he went on:

"Yes––wishing. You see, I––oh, I––" and he had reached the crux of his confession, he knew, the point beyond which all would be beyond obscuring and could never again be unknown, unheard, unconfessed "––I wished that you would kiss me, Alyosha, every night I wished it, and not as a brother. I knew that it was strange, abnormal, sinful, to feel these things for you...for you were a man!...yet still I felt them. My companions dreamt of beautiful girls, with sparkling eyes and soft gay voices; and I dreamt of sparkling eyes, too, but of yours. Just now I saw your gentle, wonderful, handsome face once again before me, and I longed to know you. I longed to know the taste of you upon my mouth; I longed to feel your arms draw me to your breast and clasp me tightly, to truly know you. Oh, how I dreamt, Alyosha. You have a pure heart, I know it, Alyosha, that you would never utter a word of your feelings toward me; but I know that you must feel them now, I know it, I know it."

At last Kolya finished, and he was breathless. He gazed at Alyosha and trembled and felt again profoundly grateful that he could perhaps have the love of such a man. He was not afraid that Alyosha would tell others of his confession; not even if Alyosha did not love him (which he did, he surely did). No, even if Alyosha did not love him and thought him the most wretched of unnatural sinners, he would never disclose his secret. For that was the kind of man Alyosha was.

Kolya watied with baited breath, with trembling heart, as Alyosha closed his eyes and bowed his head as though in pain. But there––slowly and only ever so slightly––yes, there! A squeeze to his hands. Some minutes passed without Alyosha saying a word, but Kolya waited, for Alyosha still held his hands, warmly, tightly.

Finally Alyosha opened his eyes and spoke in a low voice, without looking at him: "What you are telling me is a sin, I am sure you know..."

Kolya bowed his head now. "Yes––I know..."

"Oh––but...but I––oh, Kolya––" Kolya looked quickly up, hoping, daring "––I do love you, Kolya. I––I do... It is a sin, I know it, I have known it, and yet still tonight I...how sinful and wicked I felt just now hearing your confession to me! Oh, Kolya––it can't be so. You cannot love me...you do not love me, it is all a joke, tell me so."

There were tears in Alyosha's eyes. Tears at once sprang to Kolya's own eyes, and he embraced his friend, the man he felt such love for, tightly and without thinking.

"None of it is a joke––I have loved you, Alyosha. I love you now..."

And, drawing back a little and turning his head, Kolya kissed the corner of his mouth. For a moment Alyosha allowed him the kiss. Then Alyosha sprang up with a soft cry of despair, and fled from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much, dear readers! I'm delighted that some people have read and enjoyed this.


End file.
